Real Love
by ceridwen-amyed
Summary: A night in with Satine, Christian and the Bohos... I am on such a Moulin Rouge creative roll!


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Disclaimer: All characters and places belong to the spectacular world of the Moulin Rouge and Baz Luhrmann et al. None of it belongs to me and I am making no money of any kind from this. Not even Monopoly money.

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Author's Note: Woo! Today's the beginning of Easter Break! And it's sunny… yey! More time for writing fanfiction outside… *big grin*

Oh, and all quotes and references etc are listed at the end.

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Real Love

By

Christine aka Piglitgirl

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As Satine stepped over the boarding house's threshold she drew the veil from her face and breathed a sigh of relief. It was always a risk coming here but she wouldn't have considered not coming. Especially today. She had had barely enough time to look at Christian, let alone speak to or touch him. The Duke had been insistent that she be by his side all day, have lunch and go for a long walk with him. Now she was tired, tired of pretending to be in love with a man she could barely stand and tired from the day's exertions. There did not seem to be enough air for her to take proper breaths anymore and now all she wanted was to curl up with Christian and forget about it all.

She climbed the irregular steps up to Christian's apartment unsteadily. She paused at the door, smiling faintly at the thought of him. She opened the door.

He was not there. 

For a moment Satine stood, clutching the handle, blinking in surprise. _He's always here_, she thought a little stupidly. _Where else could he be? I need him to be here!_

"Christian?" she called uncertainly, feeling panicky and ashamed of feeling so over such a simple thing. There was a scuffle from upstairs and a voice called.

"Darling?"

Satine let out a deep breath and loosened her grip on the doorknob. A moment later, Christian's head appeared upside down from the hole in the centre of the ceiling. He grinned at her, then blinked at the expression on her face.

"Is something the matter?"

"No, no. I just… wondered where you were, that's all." She smiled brilliantly at him. "There you are." He smiled back at her.

"Satie's written a new song," he explained as she shut the door.

"For the show?" asked Satine, surprised. As far as she was aware, Christian was the writer of everything in the show, music and script. Christian shook his head, nearly overbalancing trying to follow her movements across the room. Satine giggled. She moved closer, leaning one hand on the ladder.

"No. He said it's just something that popped into his head while he was watching the dancers rehearse…" Christian paused and glanced back into the room he was in. Satine could hear now the other Bohemians' voices. The Argentinean said something very loudly but stopped halfway through a word. There was a crash and a hand flopped over the hole. Christian looked vaguely surprised and then leaned closer to Satine.

"Actually," he said in a stage whisper, "I think it was written for one dancer in particular." He winked. "If you see what I mean."

"Of course," she whispered back. Christian smiled at her. The hand gave a sudden jerk and moved away, floorboards creaking: the Argentinean had woken up. Satine saw him walk behind Christian's head, muttering and rubbing the back of his head. Christian was still gazing at her in such a way that Satine blushed. _He's the only man in the world who can make me do that_, she thought wistfully. Christian seemed to realise what he was doing and gave himself a little shake. 

"I'll come down," he said swinging a leg over the ladder. "The stairs are blocked with props and you'll never make it up the ladder with that dress on..."

"Oh, won't I?" said Satine, raising an eyebrow. Christian paused and looked down at her, a twinkle in his eye.

"No," he said assuming an air of complete confidence. "It'll get in the way."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really." He turned fully on the ladder to look at her, one foot dangling in mid air.

"Well, then," she said bending down and unclipping one shoe, "I might just have to prove you wrong, monsieur. Hold this." She added, handing it to him. He stared at her, a bemused expression on his face. "What?" she said, in her sternest voice, trying hard not to laugh.

"I've never known anybody quite like you," he said quietly, looking at her shoe as if it contained all the wonders of the world. Satine couldn't think of anything to say: she just stood there, bent over, her left foot in her right hand, cheeks burning hotter than ever. She pulled the shoe off and handed it to him wordlessly. Their hands touched and she shivered involuntarily. 

"I've never known anybody quite like you either," she whispered smiling at him with every inch of her face.

"Christian!" shrieked Toulouse's voice, shattering the moment. "We've had a breakthrough! Get the wine!"

"Yes, Christian," said Satine playfully, her heart pounding painfully in her chest. "Get the wine."

"Right," he smiled back. "We need to celebrate your glorious ascension!" He disappeared. She could hear his footsteps clatter across the floor. 

Satine suddenly grinned mischievously. She reached down and pulled up her skirts, revealing her garter. She quickly pulled it and the stocking off with the ease of practice and did the same to her other leg. She could still remember the days before the Moulin Rouge, running around Paris, barefoot and not caring how she looked. A part of her missed the freedom of those days, not caring what anyone thought of her. She paused, considering which was the most graceful way to climb. Deciding there really wasn't one, she hoisted the skirt up high in her left hand and gripped the ladder with her right. _I hope it's as steady as it looks_, she thought.

It was. Satine got to the top without incident and was briefly wondering how she would actually get off the ladder now she was on it, when a hand appeared in front of her eyes. She glanced up and saw The Doctor smiling at her, a bottle of Absinthe in the other hand. She smiled graciously back and took it, allowing him to pull her up.

"Thank you," she said cheerily, brushing herself off. He nodded and scuttled back to the piano, where Satie was playing a quiet melody. Toulouse and the Argentinean were arguing, apparently over the lyrics to Satie's tune. Satie appeared to be trying to instruct them: "The lyrics must fit the tune! Da dada da da da da…" he sang. Christian had his back to Satine, trying to pull the cork out of a bottle of wine.

Satine walked to him and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned and jumped slightly when he saw her.

"Satine! You made it!"

She put her hands on her hips. "Was there ever a doubt?" she said tilting her chin higher.

"No," he said, putting the wine back on the table and drawing her closer to him. "I'd never doubt you."

* * * * * * *

"It all depends on what you want your song to be about Satie," said Toulouse, later on that evening, swaying slightly on his cane. "Is it about beauty?"

"Freedom?" queried the Argentinean.

"Truth?" asked The Doctor.

"Or love?" chorused all three.

Satie rubbed his eyes, his spectacles dangling in one hand. "I suppose all three really. But mostly love."

The Argentinean rolled his eyes. "Why does everybody always write about love? Are there no other belief's we live by?" he demanded glaring at the others and promptly falling asleep. The other Bohemians ignored this.

"What am I doing?" cried Satie, throwing his hands dramatically into the air. "I'm no lyricist! I'm a musician. My melodies are my art. Christian," he called turning to the corner where his myopic vision could just make out a dark brown blob and a red blob. "You're the voice of the Children of the Revolution! What should I write?" There was no reply. The Argentinean woke up.

"He cannot be our voice," he said reasonably, "if his lips are busy elsewhere."

"What?" asked Satie vaguely, putting his glasses back on. He glanced over at the corner where the lovers sat and blinked.

"Oh right," he said after a moment. "I see what you mean."

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Christian was very distantly aware that the Bohemians were leaving and saying something about Bar Absinthe but he really didn't care. Satine was with him and that was all that mattered.

"Think you can make it back down stairs?" he whispered as soon as the door had shut. Satine looked at him with hazy eyes.

"Of course."

It must have been quite a tricky operation getting downstairs, decided Christian afterwards, considering that Satine's dress had not been designed for scrambling up and down ladders and that they were both unwilling to break contact with each others mouths but they must have somehow made it. The next thing Christian remembered was falling back onto his bed, Satine wrapped in his arms. She sighed heavily against his mouth and broke the kiss, pressing her cheek into his chest.

"Are you alright darling?" he asked after a moment. He felt her nod.

"I'm just tired. The Duke…" She didn't finish. She didn't have to. Christian took a deep breath and held her tighter. She clutched his shirt in her hands.

"I just get so _tired_ Christian…"

"I know, darling, I know."

"…I hate this. Pretending, lying…" She sat up and looked at him, her eyes wide. "I feel like I have no time with you…" Christian smiled sadly and pulled her closer.

"Had we but world enough, and time…" he murmured in her ear.

"And if loving you were no crime," she whispered back, running her fingers across the back of his neck.

"A hundred years should go to praise," he said, rolling so that she lay on her back, gazing wonderingly at him. "Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze." He kissed her temples and she sucked in a deep breath.

"Two hundred to adore each breast…" he smiled as she laughed and whispered "Is that all you men think about?"

"But thirty thousand to the rest," he continued, nuzzling her neck. "An age at least to every part-" 

Satine kissed him deeply and all thought of poetry flew out of Christian's head. There was only her, and her lips, her hair, her breath against his skin and her whispers that were not quite words ringing in his ears. 

* * * * * * *

Satine smiled in her sleep and rolled over. She hugged the pillow and then reached out for Christian. Her hand fumbled on the sheets and found nothing. Her eyes flew open.

He was not there.

Satine blinked in surprise but did not feel the level of panic she had felt earlier on. Christian was often already awake when she awoke and was usually sitting at his typewriter writing a new scene. Except that she couldn't hear the clacking of the typewriter keys.

She sat up and looked around, furrowing her brow. _Where could he be?_, she wondered. As if in reply, the soft, slightly off-key sound of Satie's piano drifted down. She smiled and pulling on her pink robe, she padded quietly over to the ladder and listened. The notes were slow and halting but she vaguely recognised them. A wrong note was played and she heard Christian's voice mutter something. The tune started again and this time she did recognise it: it was Satie's tune from the night before. She bit her lip gently and looked out the window. He must be writing the lyrics for it. She laughed quietly, remembering obscurely Satie crying halfway through the night "I need Christian!"

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So do I, she thought, climbing the ladder. _With every breath in my body._

Christian was apparently familiarising himself with the tune – he was playing the same few bars over and over, engrossed in what he was doing. Satine silently got off the ladder and approached him, placing her feet flat on the floorboards so she didn't disturb him. He was wearing trousers with no shirt, a pencil tucked behind his ear. A notebook rested next to a glass of water on the piano's top.

Satine paused a few feet away from him. She didn't want him to know she was there, wanting to see him work when he thought he was alone. She looked around for something to sit on but all the surfaces were crammed with books and empty bottles and sheets of paper. _A true bohemian home_ she thought, and then decided to sit just where she was, cross-legged on the floor. She sat carefully and stared at Christian, playing absently with the cord around her robe. 

He paused in his playing. "Yes, that's it," he murmured and he started playing again. He started singing quietly.

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All my little plans and schemes,

Gone like some forgotten dream.

Seems like all I really was doing,

Was waiting for you.

Satine smiled. His voice was a little hoarse but not at all sleepy. He'd been up a while.

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Just like little girls and boys,

Playing with their little toys.

Seems that all we really were doing,

Was waiting for love.

He played a bum note and swore. After a moments hesitation he plunged back into the song, the melody changing ever so slightly.

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No need to be alone.

No need to be alone.

It's real Love

It's real.

Yes it's real Love,

It's real.

Satine had tears in her eyes. There was a sincerity in Christian that shone out in whatever he did, especially when he spoke of what he believed. She remembered him on top of the Elephant that time, uncertain and awkward until she admitted that she couldn't fall in love. She remembered the spark that ignited in his eye and how she had thought, _oh dear. That's it. I can't stop this._

Christian ran his thumb along the keys. "Instrumental," he muttered and then hummed a little melody. Satine cupped her hand over her mouth, trying not to giggle. He started singing again.

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From this moment on I know,

Exactly where my life will go.

Seems like all I really was doing,

Was waiting for love.

No need to be afraid.

No need to be afraid.

It's real Love

It's real

Yes it's real Love,

It's real.

He played the melody once more and then finished rather clumsily. He laughed at himself and then whirled around as Satine applauded him. He smiled and titled his head suspiciously at her.

"How long have you been there?" he asked.

"Since you started playing," she said, getting up gracefully and putting her arms around him she kissed his cheek. "You're very talented." He pulled her onto his lap.

"Only when I have my muse around me." He hesitated and then said, trying (adorably she thought) to sound careless, "what did you think?"

She smiled and thought for a moment. He absently caressed her back.

"It was… very real. And true," she added.

He kissed her.

"I thought so too."

* * * * * * *

The 'Real Love' demo is by John Lennon and is the version I was listening to writing this, although The Beatles did remake it along with 'Free as a Bird'. The demo can be found on The Lennon Anthology or Wonsaponatime.

Christian uses quotes from 'To His Coy Mistress' by A. Marvell speaking to Satine. I know someone else wrote a fanfic using bits from it as well, but I think they're different parts. Anyway, I didn't mean to rip off your fic, whoever wrote it, so if they're identical I'm sorry! Imitation is the highest form of flattery remember. J 

It's got to that time of year when I eat far too much chocolate and get really sick. I never learn not to eat so much chocolate…You, dear reader, can help me this year to combat my chocoholicism by posting a review because reviews are (and this is a little known fact) better than chocolate! So please, lovely people that you are, read and review and the world (or my house at least) will be a lot saner. Thank you!


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